


Tears of the Wolf, Blood of the Dragon

by Archaeologyfiend



Series: A Dragon in Wolf's Clothing [2]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: After the Rebellion, Jon Snow is a Targaryen, Jon's name is not Aegon, just no, slight AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-01
Updated: 2017-09-01
Packaged: 2018-12-22 14:48:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,840
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11969631
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Archaeologyfiend/pseuds/Archaeologyfiend
Summary: Eddard Stark discovers his sister on a bed of blood, son in hands, and faces hard choices down the road in order to keep his promise...





	Tears of the Wolf, Blood of the Dragon

**Author's Note:**

> First things first, I do not believe that Jon's true name in the books is Aegon because that would be stupid considering Rhaegar already had a son called Aegon and also the character of Young Griff exists so, no. Also I wrote this way back before Season 6 came out, so people were still debating whether Jon was actually the son of Lyanna and Rhaegar, so hence the slightly AU version of how this went down. 
> 
> Other than that, please enjoy!

The room smelt like blood and roses. That was Eddard Stark’s first notion that not all was as it seemed when he entered the highest room of the famed Tower of Joy. He had come here, expecting a bleeding and broken Lyanna, expecting her to fall into his arms in relief at the end of her torture at the hands of the demon that stole her from her family and fractured the world. But the reason for the blood and brokenness had nothing to do with any monster.

The room held a near explosion of blue roses- they were situated on every surface of the room in overflowing vases, filling the air with sweetness. Perhaps Rhaegar had sensed that this would not end well and had prepared for Lyanna to smell her most favoured flower before her eyes closed for the last time. But the screams were evidence that this was no illness, no wound that Eddard or any maester could fix.

She was smiling though, smiling through the tears and agony clearly etched on her face. Glad, in her final moments, that he had come to save her- of that, at the very least he had been right about. Now his father’s odd behaviour made sense. Ned had wondered why on earth Rickard Stark was not angrier at the prince for kidnapping his only daughter only a week before her wedding to Robert Baratheon. It would seem that he had known, to a certain extent that this would happen.

“Lya…” Ice had dropped from his hand at some point, dripping more blood onto the floor. He was vaguely aware of the desperate cries coming from the bundle in Lyanna’s arms, held loosely in arms full of love but failing strength. He supposed she had held on only so long as to know that he would be loved in the end, that he would live.

“Hello Ned,” Lyanna whispered, too weak for much more. She looked tired and small, nothing like the wild and wilful girl in his memories who spurned Robert at every opportunity until he removed himself from the arms of other women.

“Lya!” He didn’t know why he repeated her name, falling to his knees on legs that had somehow moved him further into the room than he realised. He glanced down into the squirming bundle, staring down into wide frightened dark violet eyes, just as scared as he was. “What is his name?” Ned felt like he was losing touch with reality.

“Jaehaerys.” Lyanna pushed the tiny bundle into his arms, giving Ned a better look at the infant, with Stark colouring but his father’s face and eyes. The eyes would give him away instantly. “I’ve been calling him Jon though. Promise me that you will keep him safe from all harm,” she murmured, tears falling in small tracks down her face as more of her lifeblood flowed from her. “Promise me you will keep him safe from Robert.” _I see only dragonspawn_. It was a terrible echo in Ned’s head, a horrific implication for the babe barely an hour old. “Promise me, Ned.” There was so little time but as Ned looked into those eyes, he knew he couldn’t hurt the child, even if he wanted to. Because he would be all that was left of them in the world.

“I promise,” he said, one hand holding onto hers, the other cradling the babe close. All that was left of this small and broken family.

He didn’t know when Howland entered the room, couldn’t remember the exact moment when the light left her eyes. He knew that Howland took the babe from his arms and that they had to drag him off the corpse of his sister. He remembered the midwife introducing herself as Wylla, a girl who had recently lost her own babe, keeping his sister company. She had been weeping too, had explained that Rhaegar employed her as a companion to Lyanna in order to save her from herself after the loss of her own babe and to help his sister with the labour to come. She took the babe into her arms eventually, able to give him the first feed of his life. But there was no hiding those eyes, dark as they were.

“We must go,” Howland said gently when Ned recovered his senses enough to realise where he was and what had happened. “Before the Dornish arrive.” Ned nodded, holding out his hands for the babe. Wylla handed him over carefully, settling him comfortably in Ned’s awkward arms, incapable of holding a baby correctly apparently. Little Jaehaerys didn’t seem to mind. He stared up at Ned with his father’s solemn eyes and his mother’s thick dark curls. He was quiet now, as if even at only three hours old, he knew that his life was at stake.

“We cannot let Robert have him,” Ned said with certainty. “We shall go to Starfall where we must break the news to the Daynes of Ser Arthur’s passing and from there take a boat further north.”

“And where shall you take the child?” Howland asked. “What will you tell Robert to explain his presence?” Ned thought on that a moment, knowing that the correct story was all that stood between this babe and certain death at the hands of the Mountain and the Lannisters.

“I will claim him as my own,” Ned said quietly. “Robert has enough of them and I have not been married long. It will not be questioned. The war has been long enough.” It would bring shame to his name and mar Jaehaerys for life, but it was a believable story that wouldn’t be questioned too closely. No one asked for the details in the conception of a bastard, only whether they would be legitimised and whether they would live with the family or not.

“You’re going to claim a child named Jaehaerys as your own bastard?” Howland said sceptically. “And even so, those eyes give away his parentage the moment you leave here.”

“I will call him Jon, after the Kings of old in the North, as Lya has been,” Ned stated. _But he has a point about the eyes._ Their deep violet colouring could be passed off as those of Ashara Dayne’s, but Ned was fairly sure that she had given birth to a stillborn girl (let alone he knew perfectly well whose bastard child the little girl had been). And if he knew that, others would as well and, considering the time and place he brought Jaehaerys back from, it wouldn’t take a genius to make the leap in logic. Howland seemed to think on his solution a moment, gazing between the child and the wet-nurse.

“There’s a woodswitch that I know who may be capable of helping with the eyes,” he said slowly. “She is still at one with the old gods, one of the last left.” Ned looked at Howland in surprise. It was a rare day when Howland would speak of those of the old gods, especially those that he knew from his time searching the world for residue of them. That he would go so far to save the child of the same lineage that tried so hard to snuff them out said volumes of his loyalty not only to Ned, but also to Lyanna.

“Thank you,” Ned murmured, bowing his head. Jaehaerys burbled something sleepily, lids falling slowly over those traitorous eyes and all the secrets that would be held forever after behind them. _But not for long. I promise, Lyanna. I promise that I will make this all right once more._

* * *

The journey back to King’s Landing was unpleasant at best, truly terrible at worst. The news of Ashara’s death followed them and Ned left Jaehaerys, now newly christened Jon for the ears of all the Seven Kingdoms and eyes thankfully darkening from that traitorous violet with the help of a potion provided by the woodswitch, with Wylla, instructing her to travel on to Greywater Watch with Howland where he would meet them there on their way back to Winterfell. Robert’s grief was too much to bear and Ned escaped the throne room the moment he had secured the rights to have Lyanna’s remains moved back north. But there was one last thing that Ned needed to know, _had_ to know for Jon’s sake.

It was something that he would have to ask after out of Robert’s ears but of one who knew all. It left a terrible taste in Ned’s mouth to enter the Spider’s den.

“My Lord Stark,” Varys whispered, looking a little startled to find Ned there. That was good. It meant he didn’t know. It meant that Jon was safe.

“The body of the Targaryen,” Ned stated, forcing the words out. “What happened to him?” Varys blinked, cocking his head to the side curiously.

“Robert decreed that it rot where it was left,” Varys stated. “Why such concern for the murderer of your sister?” Ned kept his face blank, but made no reply that Varys could analyse.

“It is dishonourable to leave a man’s bones to rot, no matter his crime. Even Aerys gave my father that rite,” he said evenly, staring into the Spider’s eyes. “I have done enough to shame my family already. I will not suffer any further.” Varys’ lips curled into a smile then, as if pleased to catch something against the great Eddard Stark. The shame of the lie curled in Ned’s stomach enough that Varys would mistake it for something else.

“Ah, yes, of course. Your little bastard.” Ned turned on his heel abruptly and left. He had all he had come for and he was tired of playing the Spider’s games. The man had given him all he needed to know and he had managed to fool the most dangerous man in all the Kingdoms. It would never happen again, he knew that.

But now he knew where to find the true parents of little Jon.

* * *

The battlefield at the Trident had yet to recover from the rampages of Robert’s army. The newly named Ruby Ford still held the body, just as Varys had said, although the smell of the battlefield could be felt several miles from the source. There had been so much death here and so little time between the end of the fight and raising the siege of King’s Landing that many a man had been left unburied, mostly of the common folk. Ned braved the stench, searching at the river for the body of the man who had stolen his sister’s heart and she, his.

Rhaegar had once been handsome, Ned had seen that, but his fine features were no more. The stark colouring of death contrasted to the dark blood splattered across his face and chest. Robert’s hammer had done its work well, caving in the entirety of the man’s chest in a horrific wound that had festered as the body rotted. Ravens had been at the body too, pecking away at the fair features, leaving whole strips of skin taken from any exposed area, mostly his face. One familiar violet eye stared mournfully up at him with a sadness that had been passed down to his son. Ned stared down at the man solemnly, sending up a prayer to the old gods for the man’s soul to be a rest as he gestured towards his retinue to do their job.

The body was soon set upon a newly built pyre and Ned himself set it ablaze. No one said any words for the fallen prince, for the man who would have made a better king than Robert, Ned knew, but whose folly had split the kingdom into war. He found himself remembering the day that Lyanna had left, the day that Robert had discovered that they were missing.

_“Stolen!”_ Robert had screamed. _“The bastard has stolen my bride from me! We must have vengeance!”_

_“My father and brother have rode out from Winterfell to petition her return with the king,”_ Ned had said calmly. _“We must do no more until then.”_

_“We can bloody well do more than that Ned! We shall raise banners, take the bastard by storm before he can do anything to her. To your sister!”_ Ned remembered wincing at those words, at having to take the back foot in this fight. But he was not Robert and neither was he Brandon. There was no point in taking sides when he knew that his sister would never have given in as easily as Robert thought. She was a wolf and wolves will fight tooth and nail for what they want, especially she-wolves. Lyanna had been to the capital more times than himself, more times than Robert even, with their father and he knew her to be no fool. He wondered how, after his father and brother’s deaths how he had been taken in by Robert’s ravings and near forgot that. But then again, they had all been grieving and he had run from the woman he had married in order to ensure the allegiance of the Tully’s and the Riverlands.

The ashes were collected once the body was finally burnt and Ned ordered them placed in with their baggage, to be thrown in the river once they reached Riverrun. Truthfully, he would do no such thing and planned to mix them with the ashes of his second wife. The man may have near caused the Civil War and the destruction of his family, but he knew that he had cared deeply for his family, for both his wives and would have been distraught to hear what had happened to both Elia and Lyanna. He could not help the Dornish woman or her children but he would help his nephew and the last remaining member of his good-brother’s family if that was the last thing he did. Howland, who had found the documents within the tower, had taken them to Greywater Watch along with the swaddling cloth Lyanna had wrapped around her son, decorated with little wolves and dragons. It was beautiful but it was also too dangerous to have around in public. Ned, however, had taken the harp and knew what he would do with it once he returned to Winterfell.

He was not looking forward to the ensuing conversation with his wife.

* * *

Catelyn Tully, now Lady Catelyn Stark of Winterfell, couldn’t believe her eyes when she arrived at her new husband’s ancestral home, baby Robb at hand and retinue behind her. She was also freezing despite the furs that she had been graced with the moment that she had married the sombre younger version of her previous husband-to-be, a fact that saddened her at times and relieved her at others. Eddard Stark may have been a grim man but she had been reassured many a time that he was honourable- at least in context to his brother who had been as wild as the country he was born within. She hoped that he would not follow in his friend’s footsteps and be as promiscuous as Baratheon was.

There were plenty of servants to see to her and Robb’s needs the moment that they arrived, flurrying around her like a flock of birds, quite unlike anything she had heard of the north. It was colder than she had imagined but the people were far friendly, stuck within their strange rites and rituals, alien to her and the south. One servants offered to show her to the nursery, an offer which Catelyn accepted, tired from the journey undertaken not long after the birth of little Robb. Far off she thought she could hear the wails of another baby, perhaps one of the numerous servants children who would one day follow after Robb loyally. Walking the long and confusing corridors of Winterfell was strange, considering the abrupt change in temperature (where did they find the heat?) but she was slightly startled at their arrival to the nursery to find a woman already sat within, nursing a small babe of her own in her lap.

“Who are you?” Catelyn demanded, clutching Robb tight to her chest, alarm curling in her stomach. This was the place for children of the lord only and the woman looked equally surprised to find her here, eyes wide with fear.

“I-I apologise m’Lady,” the woman said, rising hurriedly and dropping into a curtsy, her accent strange. _She is Dornish_ Catelyn found herself thinking, another emotion brewing within her heart. _What is a Dornish woman doing here?_ “I did not know you would be arriving today.” Catelyn swallowed, glancing towards the serving woman who had bought her here who seemed the only one of the pair who was not alarmed at the presence of the other.

“Well, remove yourself at once,” Catelyn snapped but, just as the woman was about to gather herself and the child up, the serving woman placed one arm on Lady Catelyn’s shoulder.

“Lord Eddard has ruled that the babe be kept here, where it is warmest for the children My Lady. He will be removed to another room when old enough.” She said the words firmly and that emotion that had risen before only seemed to get stronger.

“Who is this child?” she asked, glancing down, fearing what she seemed to know in her heart. Dark hair, Stark hair in tiny curls and wide dark eyes staring up at her from the woman’s lap, curious if solemn for a child. The serving woman seemed to have no qualms in answering her question despite Catelyn’s obvious reservations.

“I believe the Lord called him Jon My lady. Jon Snow.” And there it was, a truth that she had thought would never come true, or at least that she would never have had to acknowledge. Anger curled its way into her heart as she stared down at those solemn features once more, now so obviously Stark to her that she was amazed she had attempted to dismiss them before. The long face, the dark hair and eyes, far more northern than Robb would ever be with his tiny wisps of auburn hair growing on his head.

“Out,” she snapped, pointing her finger to the door. “I want him out and gone. Take him back to his mother where he belongs.” The woman holding Jon swept him up, eyes ever more alarmed now, frightened by Catelyn’s rage as she should be. How dare she bring that evil inside her household? How dare she parade around her shame that, no matter for how short a time they had been married, she could not keep her husband? “I will not have a bastard under this roof!”

“My Lady, the boy has no mother. Lord Stark said she died at childbirth. He insisted that it was his duty to care for the child in her absence. Jon shall be removed the moment he is old enough to survive elsewhere.” The serving woman, unlike the wet-nurse who clutched the babe who, throughout this entire ordeal merely wiggled a bit in her grasp before settling for a nap, was unfazed by Catelyn’s anger and insistent. She would not be argued on this and Catelyn was furious. She was the head of this household now! No servant ought to think that they could tell her what to do! But then again, she was following the orders of her Lord husband who would have precedence over matters, even ones such as these, than she would. “Lord Stark will be back on the morrow My Lady, for you to discuss this issue with him further.” Catelyn glanced to the woman beside her before sweeping out of the room with her son. She would have no trueborn son anywhere near a baseborn one. Robb would sleep with her tonight.

* * *

Ned was wary when he arrived in Winterfell to find Wylla caring for Jon on the steps of the Great Hall, noting that she seemed even more uncomfortable than when he left her with his lords declarant to make the rest of the journey here ahead of him. Clearly, Catelyn had discovered Jon before he could explain anything to her, which was perhaps a blessing in disguise. It would seem strange if she were accepting of a bastard child when she was raised in the south. In all truth, even in the north baseborn children were kept out of sight, even if they were treated better here than down south where they were seen as a blight on the earth. But Ned knew it was necessary for people to see Jon as nothing more than a bastard and he had had enough of Robert’s heckling to know the name of the woman who had seduced him in his brief respites from grief and running the kingdom.

“M’Lord,” Wylla stated, rising from her seat and curtsying before him as if he were some great lord. Jon was nestled snugly in her cloak and swaddling clothes, smiling happily up at his uncle, one pudgy little hand outstretched. Ned ached to take it but he could not appear to prefer Jon over Robb, the babe he had yet to meet. “Your wife-“ she started but Ned shook his head, cutting her off.

“I will speak to her. Take Jon inside before he turns blue with cold,” Ned said, although he noted that the cold did not seem to bother the infant in the slightest. Wylla nodded, rushing inside, avoiding everyone like the plague. The servants barely spared her a glance, some of the workers looking curious but otherwise, things were just as he left them at Winterfell.

“I would assume the Lady is less than happy to hear the news,” Jory Cassel stated, one eyebrow raised as he watched Wylla’s retreating back.

“Most probably,” was all Ned said in reply, leaving the man to enter the castle itself. He had something that he needed to straighten out.

He found his lady wife in the nursery, a place he had seldom visited before except at the birth of his younger siblings. She had clearly kicked Wylla out if the fact that she had been outside was anything to go by, although hopefully not overnight. As cold as the days were, the nights were ever colder and while Ned found it relaxing to finally be home, he knew that that was not ideal for a new-born. Lady Catelyn glanced up from the babe nestled in her arms, sat in a chair by the fire and gently rocking the child as he fell asleep. Her eyes were steely and it looked as if she had been crying.

“So,” she said, after a moment of silence. “You have returned.”

“I have come back, yes,” Ned said awkwardly, not sure how to start.

“Who is that child Ned?” Catelyn asked abruptly, not waiting any further. “Why was he here?” Ned didn’t know how he would answer this. It was not the first time he had lied, but he always hated doing so especially now to his lady wife.

“He is mine,” Ned started, wincing at Catelyn’s own flinch as if he had physically struck her. “I took him in after his mother’s death. I am sorry for sullying your honour so.” Catelyn scowled down him, her eyes fierce.

“I want him gone My Lord. I will not have you parade your shame here, in my own household,” she stated, sounding as if she was used to having her orders followed. Ned kept any emotion from his face, not wanting her to know the depth of his disdain for the way the southerners looked down on all those below them.

“I promised his mother that I would care for him,” Ned said evenly. “I asked for him to be kept here as it is the best place for new-borns. I promise the moment he is old enough, he will be moved to another place within the castle.” Catelyn turned her head to him sharply, something like anger at his defiance of her requests in her eyes. He sighed internally, knowing that there would be a long road ahead of him to fix this and rose to his feet from where he had kneeled at his lady’s feet in apology. “I am afraid that I must leave you for a while for now. I must attend to the internment of my sister’s bones to the crypt.” Lady Catelyn looked as if he had just slapped her across the face, her features twisting slightly in guilt and betrayal. Ned leant down briefly to look at his son, sleeping peacefully in his mother’s arms despite her own distress. “What is his name?” Ned asked quietly.

“Robb.” He nodded, accepting that as a dismissal if the tremble in her voice was anything to go by. Despite the fact that he had not in fact soiled his honour, he still felt wretched for lying straight to her face, turning and leaving for the crypts.

* * *

His men had already seen to Lyanna’s internment, the rites had already been said and the proper ceremony would be held in the Godswood on the morrow. This was the best chance that they would have to bury the secret forever. Howland was already there, Rhaegar’s ashes, harp and the documents and cloth already gathered in a small pile on top of the grave. The statue would be brought in after the ceremony, acting as the body in the ritual tomorrow rather than her ashes, which had lain outside of a grave for long enough. Wylla too was there, holding little Jon in her arms who was as solemn as always. He had noticed, on the short time he had journeyed with them, that Jon was a quiet child and seldom fussed unless in need and did not appear to have changed all that much.

“We are ready when you are,” Howland stated, noting Ned’s uncharacteristic quiet mood, making no mention of the marriage that Ned had potentially ruined with this one secret. He nodded, taking up the urn filled with Rhaegar’s ashes and, with the help of Howland to move the lid of the grave enough for it to fit within, placed it next to the skull of his sister.

“May you have found peace, the both of you,” Ned murmured into the flickering darkness of the tomb. “May your wife Elia and children have found happiness with you and are at peace. I am sorry that I could get back in time to save them. I swear I will not fail with Jaehaerys.” He and Howland then heaved the lid of the tomb back into place and Ned then gathered the rest of the things that marked the short and tumultuous marriage of his sister and Rhaegar. He wrapped the documents, containing their marriage contract as given by a priest of the Old Gods, letters that the pair had written to each other, a single document marking Jaehaerys’ birth and his claim to the throne and a single telling letter from Elia Martell to his sister that decreed she held no grievances against her, along with the harp in the swaddling cloth that Lyanna had spent so much time and effort to create. As skilled as his sister was a needlework, it had not been her favourite of things to do and he was surprised, but touched at the amount of love and attention she had put into it. It was a shame to have it buried in the dark but there was nothing he could do for her. Howland pulled out the small compartment that already had Lyanna’s most valued objects within and he laid the contents of the small package inside, to lay there forever, or until Jon was old enough to know.

“I pray that they have found peace, all of them,” Howland said, head bowed and Ned slowly slid the compartment shut, shutting all knowledge of the truth away from sight. Wylla nodded and Jon began to quietly sniffle in the background, one of the few times that Ned had heard him cry. He held out his arms for his nephew and Wylla handed him over and Ned brought the babe closer to his chest, quietly rocking him and shushing him.

“Shh, it will be alright little one,” he murmured into Jon’s little ear. “Your mother and father loved you very much and you shall not suffer for their loss. I promise.” He would make sure of this and Job’s quiet little sobs filled the air, as if he knew this was the end of much of the kindness he had been shown. As if he knew of the cold and drafty room that awaited him later on in life, the heckling he would receive from many southern visitors and his Aunt, of the hard and cold life he would now lead. But for that moment, he was held, safe and warm and loved within the arms of his uncle who would do his utmost to never let anyone hurt him again.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Ok, so a couple of end notes.
> 
> 1) As you can tell, I have... strong feelings about Jon's name and don't get me wrong, I do enjoy the show, but whoever decided that his name ought to be Aegon ought to be kicked off now. Because no. Just no. If this happens in the books, then fine, whatever, but this will be highly unlikely since, you know, Rhaegar already had a son named Aegon and he was also expecting a girl to name Visenya so in all honesty, Jon more than likely has no Targaryen name at all. I just went with Jaehaerys because that was the one that fit at the time so my money is on that or Aemon if he does have a Targaryen name in the books. So, for anyone confused as the different name here, that's why.
> 
> Moving on...
> 
> 2) My apologies at how Catelyn might seem in this chapter to all of you who love her. I don't hate the character- in fact I cried at all the things she has gone through and my heart still hurts over the whole Lady Stoneheart aspect- but I have always been uncomfortable with her behaviour towards Jon and trying to convey that without any of the other Stark children to offset her was hard. Just wanted to clarify that in case she seemed out of character at all.
> 
> 3) In how Ned got away with hiding Jon, I shall never know especially considering his reputation so in my eyes he just got extremely lucky. I suppose that Varys was tied up too much in his plot to off Aerys and with Illyrio and the then infant Young Griff to have noted too much what Rhaegar was up to but I still find it highly unlikely he wouldn't have put two and two together. I know this doesn't come across in this story, the books or the show, but I have my suspicions that he knows. And even if he doesn't, it is obvious that other characters have, namely Littlefinger for one because Ned was not one to father bastards out of nowhere. Then again, it was war and war changes everyone no matter whether that's for better or worse.
> 
> 4) Ok, this is a quick one but in an earlier draft of this, I was going to leave Rhaegar alive as a tribute to all the theories out there, especially as there is no note on what happened to Rhaegar's body etc. but I decided against this. However, I felt the need to put in that Rhaegar was actually dead since GRRM is unreliable in this (ahem Brienne) because it feels to me that it would break an integral part of Jon's character arc, and even hell the Targaryens, to just be like 'psych! He was alive this whole time!' because that would detract from the tragedy of Jon's beginnings. No impact on the story but thought it was something to note.
> 
> Anyhow, so that was that. I may be writing more for this little series, but this is all I have so far. There are a few ideas I have floating about in my head, more than likely after the battle for the Dawn or involving Young Griff, but we shall see. But anyways, I hope you enjoyed!


End file.
